


paint me heaven.

by starsandskies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Diners, Comfort/Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Multi, Slow Build, artist!castiel, mentions of castiel's brothers, server!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandskies/pseuds/starsandskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester works in Harvelle's and Jo and Ellen are practically family. He meets Castiel, an artist, and finds something he didn't realise he was looking for. But Castiel is just a little bit broken and he doesn't really know what he's doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's a really short first chapter but i promise, it gets longer.  
> -  
> Castiel is an artist and Dean can't sleep.

There were only four people in total in Harvelle’s, all sitting a few tables away from each other, drinking their coffee and reading the paper or just staring into space. It had been a slow day for the small café which was a bit of a surprise since Wednesdays were their busiest days.

Dean Winchester adjusted the apron around his waist and leant down to wipe down a table as he grumbled under his breath a string of curse words, He wasn’t in the best of moods – he was pissed off, tired and bored. There were hardly any customers and it’d been like that for the whole day. He wanted to go home and just sleep because honestly, he hadn’t slept for days. Not properly, anyway. But he knew that going home wasn’t going to do him much good since he’d only end up watching the television on mute and sip whiskey straight from the bottle. No, it was best if he stayed here.

He rubbed his temples and went back behind the counter, attempting to draw a feather on the notepad in front of him out of boredom. He didn’t know why he thought of a feather out of everything but it just came to him in his mind. After a few minutes of mindless doodling, Jo came out and pat him on the back.

“Mom says you’re free to go,” she smiled, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear.

Dean looked up at the clock and nodded, untying the apron strings and hanging it up neatly. It was 9:04pm and he should have left four minutes ago. “Alright, tell her I said night.”

“It’ll pick up tomorrow, you know,” Jo said, her hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I guess. Have a good night!” he called out as he grabbed his jacket and left, finding his car keys and unlocking the Impala.

It had been his father’s car but he’d always, even when he was a boy, admired it. He always watched John as he stood over the hood and tinkered with the engine. That day he gave the car to him was the day Dean felt like an adult – he wasn’t just a stupid dumb kid anymore. It was his most prized possession and it reminded him of John but he was yet to figure out if that was a good thing or not.

He pulled up outside the apartment complex and walked in, ignoring the couple making out near the stairs, taking the steps two at a time before opening the door and stepping inside what he begrudgingly called home.

“Sam?” he called out, hanging his jacket up before going into the kitchen. “Oh, hey.”

His brother was seated at the small table with his nose buried in some law textbook, “hey,” he muttered, not looking up. “How was work?”

“Slow,” Dean replied grimly, taking a beer out of the fridge and placing one on the table next to Sam.

“It’ll pick up tomorrow,” his brother replied.

“That’s what Jo said,” Dean mumbled. “You eaten?”

“Not really, I’ve not had the time,” Sam finally looked up and gave his brother a sheepish look.

“Sandwich okay?”

“Perfect, thanks,” Sam smiled.

*

It was just like he’d predicted. Dean had half a bottle of whiskey in one hand, the TV remote in the other. Images flashed on the screen but he wasn’t interested. The only reason it was on was so he didn’t feel completely alone. Instead, he focused on the sharp burn of the alcohol in his throat as he lifted the bottle up to his lips. Sam was asleep and the place was quiet apart from the low hum of the television. It was past two in the morning and every bone in Dean’s body was telling him to sleep but his mind had other ideas. His eyes were wide open and there wasn’t a chance in Hell that he’d be able to get his head down to go to sleep.

Most nights he drank enough whiskey to make the pain hide away for a while but it wasn’t working tonight. He felt sick and suddenly, the silence was deafening. All he could think of were his own thoughts, the way he felt he’d failed, the way he blamed himself for his father’s death. He took a large gulp of alcohol just so he could stop thinking but it was like his body had grown immune overnight. He saw John’s face when he closed his eyes; saw Sam’s jaded expression and fragments of Mary.  Dean took a deep breath as he felt his eyes become heavy, his eyelids dropping as his head lolled to one side and his hand still gripped tight around the whiskey bottle.

*

“What can I get for you?” Dean asked, his hand poised over the notepad as he waited, ready to write the customer’s order down.

“Black coffee and a slice of that pie over there. What is that, blackberry?”

“Yes sir, only the best,” Dean smiled. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He shuffled back to the counter and cut a slice of pie, poured coffee into a mug and walked back over to the table where the customer thanked him and paid.

It had been a busy morning at Harvelle’s and Jo (as well as Sam) had been right – business had picked up. Dean, Jo and Ellen had been rushed off their feet and he really wanted to sit down but the constant stream of customers meant that he couldn’t have a moment’s peace. It was a while after two when the lunchtime rush died down and although, people still came in, it wasn’t as hurried as earlier.

Dean served people with a smile on his face and they usually grinned back, making conversation about the weather or sports or something. If they were unhappy, he would listen to them without judgment because they were more than _just_ customers and Harvelle’s was more than _just_ a café.

Dean had only slept for two hours last night before waking up at around four, not able to go back to sleep again. His neck hurt each time he moved it from sleeping on the armchair but he wasn’t the type to complain. He didn’t bring his problems into work with him.

“Can I go on my break?” he asked Ellen, hovering beside the counter, waiting for her to look up.

“Dean, you’ve been working here for more than seven months, you don’t need to ask,” she chuckled, shaking her head.

“Just making sure,” he grinned before walking outside, welcoming the light wind that whipped around him.

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag as he walked down the street aimlessly. He always did this on his breaks; he just wandered around until he had to go back. He wanted some silence after the rushed atmosphere in Harvelle’s. He rounded a corner and his eyes fell to the ground. He saw three white feathers tipped with black and frowned at the way they looked out of place. It looked like they’d fallen deliberately but that didn’t make sense so he shrugged and stepped around them as he began to head back, lighting another cigarette and enjoying the quiet.

*

It was almost half eight in the evening when Castiel walked into Harvelle’s. He slipped past Jo, Ellen and Dean silently and sat down at a booth, looking down at the pristine table top.

“Can I get you anything?” a voice spoke, making him jump a little. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I-It’s fine,” he said, looking up at the blonde girl.

“So, did you want anything?” she asked again.

“Just coffee please,” he managed to say, his voice scratchy like he’d been crying,

“Alright,” Jo spoke, shooting the dark haired man a worried look.

Dean followed her movements as she poured the coffee, smiled and went to the back. He was left to look at the customer at the far end of the café and he could see that he was wearing a paint-splattered shirt that had been haphazardly tucked in. Castiel fidgeted in his seat and swallowed hard, catching Dean’s gaze who looked away hastily, pretending to wipe the counter down.

Castiel wrapped his hands around the mug for warmth before taking a sip, the coffee stinging his throat. He crinkled his nose as he winced and Dean noticed. He cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. The customer looked up and furrowed his eyebrows.

“You may want to slow down there, buddy.” Dean advised, smirking a little.

“Yeah, um..,” the other man trailed off, looking down into his cup. He sniffled a little, tears forming in his eyes.

He really didn’t want to be seen crying in public in front of all these different people so he stood up abruptly just as Dean’s shift was about to end.

“I’ll see you, Jo,” Dean smiled, heading to the door. He politely held it open for the dark haired stranger who just nodded and offered the smallest of smiles through glistening blue eyes.

As Dean looked at him, his gaze immediately fell to his eyes. They were shockingly blue yet tinged with obvious distress as he noticed the moisture about to fall down his cheeks. He wanted to say something, make it better but he remained silent as he let him pass before frowning and letting the door shut swiftly behind him. The stranger went in the opposite direction to where the Impala was parked so Dean just shrugged and went to his car, another day’s work done.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn’t sleep at all last night. He didn’t drink that much either but Sam checked on him regardless. Dean may have been the oldest but really, they needed each other. They looked out for each other because they didn’t _have_ anyone else.

It was a Friday which meant that Harvelle’s was quieter during the evening since many of the customers had gone onto the bars in town, kick starting the weekend with shots of vodka and tequila. He didn’t envy them because he liked the atmosphere of the café. There was a certain buzz in the air that you didn’t quite find in other places. Besides, Harvelle’s was a second home and Jo and Ellen were family.

Dean had his head down as he organised the cash register and put more change in it, mentally calculating how much profit had been made, when he heard a throat being cleared. He glanced up and saw the same bright eyes he’d encountered yesterday but this time, they were free of tears. He swallowed hard and smiled the standard server smile.

“What can I get you?”

“Nothing,” the dark haired man spoke, his voice quiet and barely audible.

“Okay.”

Sometimes people came in just for a conversation or some company or because it was cold outside and sleeping in doorways was getting harder to bear. Dean went to serve other customers but his eyes wandered to the man sitting at the counter, his shoulders slumped and white paint on the sleeve of his shirt, light stubble on his jaw as he ran a hand down his face. He looked disengaged with what was going on around him, too preoccupied with his own thoughts. Dean shuffled back to the counter and let his eyes roam the sad stranger. He huffed and leant forward on his elbows.

“I’m Dean,” he stated, smiling softly.

“Wh-what?” the blue eyed man furrowed his eyebrows, Dean’s voice snapping him out of his reverie.

“Name’s Dean. What’s yours?”

“Oh, er, Castiel,” he spoke, wetting his lips and ducking his head shyly.

“That’s a nice name, unusual, though. Castiel,” Dean said, “Cas-ti-el,” he repeated the name, sounding out each syllable as it rolled off his tongue easily, judging the weight of it in his mouth.

Castiel remained silent as Dean stood and dried coffee cups in front of him. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

The older man shrugged, “just thinking,” his blue eyes dull and lifeless.

Dean refrained from saying anything; he really didn’t want to make things worse. Whatever ‘things’ were. He noticed the dry paint on the cuff of Castiel’s sleeve and pointed at it, “you paint?”

“Yes, I…yeah,” Castiel looked as if he wanted to say more but he didn’t talk, instead he covered the paint splatter with his left hand.

“You sure you don’t want anything?

“I’m sure. Can I just sit here?”

“Of course, Cas.” Dean didn’t mean to inadvertently give him a nickname but it just came out and he blushed bright red. “I mean, Castiel. Sorry.”

The darker haired man managed a smile, “it’s nice,” he mused.

“You wanna talk? I’m good at listening. Hell, the stories I’ve heard…”

“It’s okay, Dean,” the older man said with as much conviction as he could muster but it clearly wasn’t enough as Dean didn’t believe him one bit.

“You don’t come in here just to sit, Cas. And you look sad.”

“Do I?” Castiel laughed humorlessly before looking up at Dean, his fingers stilling over what was left of the napkin he’d just torn up, “you’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Can’t help it. I’m nosy.”

Castiel sighed,” I didn’t pay the electricity bill so they shut it off. The lights are gone in my flat which means I can’t paint or do anything so I came here,” he spoke as calmly as he could, hoping that his voice wasn’t shaking.

“Oh,” Dean wished he hadn’t asked. Sure, he’d heard worse but this man looked too innocent, too undeserving. “You gonna stay until..?”

“Until I don’t need to see,” Castiel finished for him, his voice laced with tiredness.

Dean did nothing but feel sorry for the man in front of him. He felt someone tap his shoulder and he blinked a few times before turning around.

“Your shift’s over,” Jo pointed to the clock before looking at Dean whose green eyes flitted back to Castiel.

“I…I know. But can I stay for a while? He looks like he needs a friend.” Jo followed his gaze and nodded.

“Sure but we’re not paying you extra.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean kissed her on the forehead before winking and taking his apron off, moving to the other side of the counter.

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows, “what are you –”

“Have a coffee on me,” Dean interrupted, causing the older man to look up with narrowed eyes.

“No, I couldn’t. I don’t want your pity.”

“Pity? It’s a cup of coffee.”

Castiel pursed his lips and nodded after some deliberation. Dean asked Jo for two cups and she smiled, pouring coffee into two mugs.

The green eyed man focused on Castiel who shifted in his seat a little, tugging his sleeves down subconsciously, “I’m not going to hurt you, Cas.”

“I know, I just..,” he searched for the right words but Dean just nodded.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

Jo placed two cups of steaming hot coffee in front of the two men but shook her head when Dean offered to pay. “On the house. You’ve worked hard this week.”

“Thanks,” Dean beamed, pushing a cup towards Castiel who took it and warmed his hands up. He’d done this yesterday, too. “So, tell me,” he sipped his coffee, “what do you paint?”

“Portraits, mostly. Sometimes scenery, sometimes the things I see. Never fruit,” Castiel added, causing Dean to chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I can’t draw for shit. Everything just comes out bad,” the younger man made a face.

“I like art. It’s the one thing that makes sense to me. Once you paint a canvas, it’ll always be there, you can’t get rid of it. Even if you try to, the mark of what used to be there will still remain.”

“Wow,” Dean muttered, slightly impressed. Silence surrounded the two men but neither seemed to mind, they just drank their coffee and wondered about each other,

“How long have you lived here?” Castiel asked quietly, his voice just about reaching Dean’s ears.

“Three years, now. We moved here after my dad died,” the younger man answered, his focus briefly interrupted by a new customer.

“We?”

“My brother and I. It’s just us left,” Dean said wistfully.

“I see.”

“What about you, you live with anyone?” Dean looked at Castiel and presumed that he lived alone; he didn’t look the type to have a roommate or anything.

“I live on my own,” Castiel’s voice caught and there was something in it that sounded too broken but the other man didn’t press matters further.

Castiel yawned and he glanced up at the time, “I should be going, I’ve stayed longer than I should, anyway. Kept you from leaving, I’m sure you’ve got things to do. Um, thank you for the coffee.”

“No problem, man,” Dean smiled. “I’ll see you?”

He didn’t know why he said it but he did and he couldn’t take it back but he thought that he’d really like to see Castiel again.

“Yes, I think so,” the other man said slowly, standing to leave. Dean followed and they found themselves at the door again, a repeat of yesterday.

Dean smiled and opened, letting Castiel through first, muttering a _bye_ and heading to his car. He turned around and watched the man he’d just met stuff his hands in his pockets and walk down the road with slumped shoulders.

“Poor bastard,” he murmured under his breath before starting the impala, the purr of the engine filling the parking lot. His eyes felt dry as fatigue washed over him but he shook the sleep away and drove to his apartment, almost falling asleep at the wheel.

*

Castiel woke up the next morning, stretching out his limbs on his bed, blissfully unaware of his troubles for a few seconds before it all came flooding back to him. He sighed and pulled on a grey jumper, staring at the half-painted canvas he’d shoved to one side in frustration. He scratched his head and decided to throw it out, the inspiration he had for it yesterday completely lost. He took out another blank canvas from under his bed and put it down, getting his brushes and paints ready. Before he started, he fished some money out and placed it on the side, hoping it would remind him that a certain electricity bill needed paying.

He knew exactly what he was going to paint, he was just afraid of not doing it the justice it deserved.

*

Dean managed to fall asleep properly on Friday night. He had his head down for a full four hours (it was all he really needed) before he woke up and went to check on his brother before watching some mindless television. He couldn’t go back to sleep after he’d woken up and besides, he was just happy that he didn’t need alcohol to help him. His head felt light, not groggy and heavy like the previous nights.

Saturdays were when Dean had to work late. He stayed at Harvelle’s until eleven (which was closing time) but started at one in the afternoon since that was the day they were always understaffed. Jo went on some sort of course (she’d told Dean what that was many times but he always forgot) and Ellen hadn’t gotten around to hiring someone else yet. She didn’t trust anyone else.

“What are you doing today?” Dean let out a sigh of relief as he sank into the armchair, holding a bottle of beer that his brother handed him before sitting down opposite.

“I have a date,” Sam mumbled.

“A date? Dude, serious?” Dean grinned, staring at his brother with wide eyes.

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Is she hot? Got big –” he made an obscene gesture at chest-level, earning a roll of the eyes from Sam.

“Is that all you care about? God, you are such a pervert,” Sam scoffed.

“Hey! I like women for other qualities.”

“Really? Name one _other_ quality,” his younger brother arched an eyebrow reveling in watching Dean struggle.

“Their personalities! Like, their intelligence and a-and their…”

“Give it up, Dean. Besides, the women you’ve slept with barely have an IQ over 25,” Sam laughed making Dean choke on his beer.

“Are you saying I attract stupid women?” the eldest Winchester scowled.

“I’m not saying you don’t.”

“What about the waitress in Illinois?”

“Which one?” Sam teased, a dirty laugh escaping Dean’s mouth.

“When’s your date?”

“This evening. Her name’s Jessica and she’s blonde, really smart, pretty –”

Dean cut him off, “what’s she doing with you, then?”

“Ha, very funny. But really, I don’t know,” Sam shrugged.

“Look at my little brother already doe eyed and in love. You’re such a chick!”

“At least I feel,” the younger brother shot back.

“Hey, I feel plenty,” Dean defended.

“If you say so, go to work,” Sam chuckled as his brother looked at the time.

“Shit, I better go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Dean said, checking his pockets for his keys.

“You’d do anything,” Sam laughed, fishing the keys from the back of the sofa and handing them to his brother.

“Exactly!” Dean called out from behind him after taking the keys and leaving Sam behind as he got into his car and drove to Harvelle’s. 

It was a quick drive to the café and he parked in his usual spot, waving at a few regulars before going in, spotting the pie on the counter. Before he could go into the back, Ellen appeared and smiled, balancing three plates in one hand.

“Here,” she threw him his apron and motioned to one of the plates, “one of them is for you.”

Dean narrowed his eyes but Ellen moved too quickly for him to question her. She came back and gave him the remaining plate, grinning.

“For me?” he asked, mildly surprised.

“Of course, sweetie. Anyone who can work the hours that you do are saints in my book. I appreciate it, Dean. We can manage without you for a few minutes,” Ellen spoke affectionately.

Dean didn’t say anything, just smiled and felt nicely acknowledged, as he went to sit down with his slice of cherry pie. He sighed in content and took a bite, his taste buds taking over instantly. He felt slightly nostalgic and tried to ignore the soft ache in his chest by focusing on the smiley face that had been made with squirty cream. He assumed that Jo had done that and he smiled fondly, taking another bite.

He ate the last of the pie before taking the plate back to the kitchen, catching Jo and kissing the top of her head.

“I’m guessing Mom gave you the pie, then,” she chuckled lightly, her hand squeezing his arm.

“Thank you,” he said genuinely. The thought of fitting it and being wanted gave him goosebumps.

“Don’t mention it. Not, come on. We’ve got rowdy customers.”

Dean followed her out and quickly got into the job, going back and forth with cups of coffee, slices of pie and napkins. It was endless chaos for a straight hour and a half before it died down a little, only a few customers coming in at a time. He finally got a chance to sit down, a break from being on his feet constantly. He exhaled loudly and Ellen raised an eyebrow.

“Something the matter?”

“No, just something I was thinking about,” Dean shrugged, “not important.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Ellen replied, knowing the oldest Winchester well enough not to pry.

“Did that guy come in again? You know, blue eyes, messy dark hair,” he said, trying to feign disinterest.

“Not that I recall. You want me to ask Jo?”

“It’s fine,” Dean replied, sort of glad that there was a chance he could come in later.

“Who is he?” Ellen asked breezily, making light conversation. “Anyone important?”

“No, just a customer. He seemed, I don’t know, upset.”

“Everyone is,” the older woman spoke wistfully, placing a coffee mug down. “You alright?”

“What do you mean?” Dean arched an eyebrow, looking at her pointedly.

“How are you coping? You know, Sam, John…” she let her voice trail off and the Winchester frowned. Ellen was like a mother to him and everything he did, he always ran it past her first. He’d known her for as long as he could remember.

“I’m okay, Ellen. Honest,” he lied easily.

“Sleeping okay?” she questioned, feigning indifference. She knew Dean well enough to know that he needed to be approached with caution.

“Yeah. Ellen,” she looked at him, “I’m okay.”

But he wasn’t. And he hadn’t been for a long time but he really couldn’t let her know because she’d fuss and she’d want to help and yeah, she meant well but he really didn’t want to explain how he was feeling. Hell, he barely knew what was going on himself. All he really knew was that there was this deep, dark hole inside of him and it was slowly consuming him bit by bit. Ellen nodded, unconvinced, and smiled at a couple who requested to sit near the window.

Dean ran a hand down his face as he glanced at the time, frowning when he realised that it was only half-five. He looked around the almost empty café and sighed, deciding to irritate his brother. Sam picked up on the fourth ring and the oldest Winchester grinned.

“Hey, Sam!”

“ _Hi..,_ ” his brother spoke slowly, “ _you never call me. What’s wrong?_ ”

“I’m bored, man. There’s nobody here.”

“ _So, you’ve decided to bother me?_ ” Sam asked flatly.

“Yeah,” Dean smiled, “you ready for your date?”

“ _I’m not a teenager,_ ” the younger Winchester reminded him.

“What are you wearing?” Dean teased, disregarding Sam’s protests.

“ _Dude! You’re worse than a girl_ ,” Sam frowned before remembering that his brother couldn’t see him.

“Come on, I’m bored!” he sighed, tapping his fingers against the counter.

Dean looked up and met a pair of familiar blue eyes, refreshed and bright, not dull like he’d seen them yesterday. He muttered something about calling Sam back before hanging up on him, a friendly smile gracing his lips.

“Hey, Cas,” he greeted.

“Dean,” the older man noted, his lips curving upwards too.

“Coffee?” Castiel nodded as he rested his elbows on the counter: one hand in his messy dark hair, the other lying flat.

“How are you?”

“Okay. I’m…good,” the older man spoke, trying to keep is voice light as he managed a smile.

But Dean knew that smile and he knew those words. He’d repeated them many times to Sam and to Ellen and he knew how easy it was to lie about something like this. Castiel drank his coffee unaware that Dean was trying to work him out. He, too, had that never ending black hole in his chest and he woke up with it and he went to bed with it and no matter how many sleepless nights he’d had willing for it to go away, it never did.

“That’s great,” Dean’s eyes trailed down Castiel’s t-shirt clad chest and chuckled, “you seem to get a lot of paint on yourself. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got more on your clothes than on paper.”

“What?” Castiel furrowed his eyebrows, his mind elsewhere. It wasn’t until the younger man pointed to the green paint on his shirt that he clocked on, his cheeks turning pink. “Oh.”

“Do you paint as a hobby or something else?”

“I sell my paintings. Not for a lot but enough to keep me going, I guess,” Castiel replied, his voice a little sad. He didn’t sell enough paintings this month in time for his electricity bill.

 “You must be good, then,” Dean smiled, earning a shrug from the dark haired man.

“How long have you worked here?” Castiel changed the subject swiftly as Dean refilled his mug.

“Eight months, give or take. Joe and Ellen are like family and someone has to take care of Sam.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, he’s going to be a lawyer, you know. I’m proud of him. Really proud of him,” Dean beamed, taking a seat opposite Cas. “Do you have any brothers?”

The colour drained from the older man’s face, “y-yeah. I have four,” he stammered.

Dean didn’t seem to notice, “wow, I think one’s enough,” he chuckled.

Castiel visibly relaxed for a brief moment, relieved that Dean hadn’t pressed matters. He didn’t want to talk about them or think about them – he didn’t want the hole to get bigger.

“You know, I have to work until eleven tonight,” Dean groaned, rolling his eyes.

“I am not envious of you.”

“Mhm,” the younger man hummed, his gaze transfixed on Castiel’s jaw, the dark stubble giving him a more distinguished look. Dean’s focus trailed upwards as he looked into shining blue eyes that were looking back at him, soft yet questioning.

“Dean?”

“Sorry, what?” A blush rose to Dean’s cheeks as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, shooting Castiel an apologetic look.

“I asked what music you like.”

“Oh, um, Metallica and Led Zeppelin, mostly. Classic rock, really,” he managed to say as he watched Cas’ lips turn into a knowing smirk.

“I thought so, you look the type.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded, smiling around the rim of his cup.

Dean watched the dark haired man swallow his coffee, his eyes never once leaving his. They looked at each other for what felt like hours and Dean’s heartbeat skyrocketed, anxious that it was so loud that even Castiel could hear it. He took in his face and unknowingly committed it to memory; the slope of his nose, the set of his jaw and the shape of his pale lips.

They both heard a throat being cleared and snapped out of their trances, blushes rising to both their cheeks.

“Dean?” he tore his away from Castiel and turned around, focusing on Ellen’s narrowed eyes as her gaze flitted from one man to the other suspiciously.

“Was wondering if you could hold the fort for a while, I’ve just got to go out.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Dean smiled.

“Jo’s in the back if you need her she’s doing a stock take or something,” Ellen nudged her head in the direction of the kitchen, rolling her eyes, “although, she’s probably reading some trashy romance. Oh, don’t tell her I told you that, it’s her little secret – she has a rep’ to uphold.”

“My lips are sealed,” he chuckled, “I’ll be fine. You go on.”

“Thanks, Dean,” she nodded, leaving the café as soon as more people came in who had just avoided the light rain.

“I’ll just serve that lot, won’t be long,” Dean stated, pulling his notepad out.

Castiel ‘s focus shifted from the blue wall in front of him to Dean’s back as he walked around taking orders, his muscles tightening and relaxing with every step. He couldn’t stop his eyes from trailing down and he admired the way the younger man’s denim jeans hugged his ass, accentuating the shape even more. He quickly looked away, feeling quite guilty and something that felt a little like shame in the pit of his stomach.

Before he could dwell on his thoughts further, Dean stood before him and beamed, “now, where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> none of this is beta'd so all mistakes are mine but hopefully it isn't too bad and still readable. x


End file.
